The Fourteenth
by BlueSea14
Summary: My response to the Valentine's Challenge at The Challenge Forum. One Valentine's Day, in several drabble snapshots.


_**Disclaimer: I do not own the Twilight Saga and am not Stephenie Meyer. **_

_**A/N—I wrote this for the Valentine's Day Challenge from The Challenge Forum. **_

**_I seem to love the drabble format, so I did another one. I did one for every prompt—candy hearts, bad poetry, missing, books, sleeping ,dancing, fire truck, balloons, broken. I_** **_also used four of the five quotes—"Oh my, what is she wearing?" "That's highly unlikely." "And then it just sort of…happened." "This is a disaster!" _**

**_They flow from one to another, all covering the span of one Valentine's Day—you can probably guess which one it is—and switching in points of view between different characters, as you can probably see. :)_**

_**Enjoy reading!**_

* * *

_February 14__th__—Jacksonville, Florida—6 AM Eastern Time_

Tiny. Chalky. Sweet. Colorful. Written on.

They remind her of her daughter. Her daughter, who was so small. Her daughter, who is so pale. Her daughter, who is a sweet and caring person. Her daughter, who is so full of life and spirit. Her daughter, who writes her own story with an expert hand.

Now, the little girl looks nearly grown, but her mother still remembers her. She remembers how much she loves her baby girl, who is no longer a baby.

Remembers how it felt to have her growing, their connection—one that nothing, not even separation, can break.

* * *

_February 14__th__—Forks, Washington—3 AM Pacific Time_

The lines are completely unsuitable.

He doesn't remember how he stumbled across it. He remembers some of the author's work. But this isn't a poem he wants to give to his wife. This is not a poem suitable for the occasion that he searches for. Yet his eyes are drawn back, over and over.

It is fitting in its own way. He remembers, _she_ read this, once. Oddly, he wonders: did _she_ think about _her_ situation when reading it?

"That's highly unlikely." Mind reader.

All the same…it is _her_. And his brother admits himself that he has trouble reading _her_.

* * *

_February 14__th__—Forks, Washington—4 AM Pacific Time_

It's funny that this year, there is nothing wrong.

Two years ago, she was the center of her universe. Her family had their roles. Wounded warrior, amnesiac pixie; strongman and beauty; mother and father; and the loner. Each had a place in their private world, her world.

Last year was a living hell. Frost was right and wrong—the world ended in fire, ice, pain and loss.

This year, their hearts are whole. The roles are all back, but instead of a loner, there is a loving husband, a 'blushing' bride, a young babe, and a _mutt_.

Nothing is missing.

* * *

_February 14__th__—Forks, Washington—5 AM Pacific Time_

They can't give each other candy. Only one of the family receives some.

Instead, they give little gifts, small things that have personal meaning. Nothing expensive, everything with subtle content.

_She_ is given a small book, flat and hard and smelling of true, old leather. He dug it up from an old storage room of theirs, making a trip to retrieve it just for _her_. Then _she_ turns, eyes catching on _her_ daughter.

"Oh, my," the faint exclamation. "What is she wearing?"

Having dressed the girl, she laughs; the outfit her gift to her new sister, who stares in disbelief.

* * *

_February 14__th__—Forks, Washington—6 AM Pacific Time_

The sunlight is streaming early through the crystal wall, scattering rays of yellow sunrise across hardwood floors. Sapphire skies light the air with romance, as the music plays a gentle tune in the background.

Blond and large, small and empathetic, swirl around the room with surreal grace. A piano player and his love sit, the small girl tottering around the instrument with her loyal, playful friend. And her husband is watching the dancers with a smile.

She folds her hands contentedly, the warm cookies baking in the oven. She can't eat them, but one boy and two visitors will be.

* * *

_February 14__th__—Forks, Washington—12 PM Pacific Time_

They are at lunch, at another house, when it happens.

To be fair, it was brotherly.

To be realistic, both the cold man and the wolfish boy should have known better than to be so playful here. They have to leave when they hear the sirens, apologizing profusely to the house's owner, who rolls his eyes with a white face and shaky smile.

As soon as the fire started, the man's daughter was whimpering, "This is a disaster!" That's what makes the two troublemakers most remorseful.

She wants to hit her husband, and knows that he can feel her anger.

* * *

_February 14__th__—Forks, Washington—1 PM Pacific Time_

He watches the little girl as she begins to drift away. Her emotions are soothing, a good relief from the hilarity and frustration from elsewhere in the room.

The mud crackles along her heels and elbows, and the boy and man under scrutiny wince when the girl's mother's lips stiffen. The girl's father is shaking his head, staring out the window. The blonde and the tiny pixie glare at their husbands.

His wife is scowling. The boy has tried to explain. "And then it just sort of…happened."

The mother figure huffs, crosses her arms.

It would be a long night.

* * *

_February 15__th__—Forks, Washington—12 AM Pacific Time_

They come back at midnight.

A cloud of plastic and helium follow in their wake, spreading around the room as if there were no tomorrow. At the sight—though not the smell—the little girl is up and darting around among the strings that anchor them. Her big, furry friend follows after her—carefully. Neither of them wants to make anyone mad again.

His wife is content, smiling as he pulls out an extra, special present just for her. Everyone seems happy again.

He apologizes to _her_, which is taken in stride. Remarkably nice, considering it was her father's house…

* * *

_February 16__th__—Forks, Washington—2 PM Pacific Time_

One day passes before the package arrives late.

She whispers that her mother is as hare-brained as ever, as she opens the package. I know her cheeks would have turned bright red if they could, at the title of that book. I can't help but laugh at her shocked expression, her self-conscious sigh.

I know she's glad she opened it in our own home. She doesn't have to face teasing unless that little future-seer tells all.

I also don't have to look close to see her broken heart at the sight. Her mother…

I hold her close. She needs me.

* * *

_**A/N—So, anyway, I told you already I seem to love the drabble format. :) That means each little one was exactly one hundred words.**_

_**In case you needed some help, because it wasn't that clear, the POV order goes as follows: Renee, Jasper, Rosalie, Alice, Esme, Alice, Carlisle, Emmett, Edward. All those italicized 'her's and 'she's are indicative of Bella, and if you'll notice, these all focus her as the main character on an…interesting Valentine's Day. I'm not sure why I wanted to do that, but I felt like I had to have a subject besides the prompts. And so, this was formed. :D **_

_**I hope you enjoyed the story! **_

_**Thanks for reading!**_


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